


Vox Dei, vox nihili

by Herodia



Category: American Gods (TV)
Genre: Blow Jobs, Established Relationship, Humiliation, Implied war crimes, Kissing, M/M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Power Dynamics, Random Facts I found on the walls of public restrooms, mention of eye trauma
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-04-16
Updated: 2020-01-12
Packaged: 2020-01-15 03:34:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 12,784
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18490492
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Herodia/pseuds/Herodia
Summary: After failing with Argus and the CEO, Technical Boy has no value left- Not for Mr World.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> For Julian

“Tell me, what was it you found so difficult on following a simple command?”

The question wasn’t meant to be answered and yet he nearly did. He looked at the ground with his mouth opened, knowing he was almost stupid enough to speak up.

“Have you perhaps, misunderstood my words? Were they too complex?”

He had no heart to beat fast, still he felt his chest tighten and burn, what was free of his body twitched. He was afraid.

“Be so generous and tell me, what use do I have for you now?” His voice was strong, but at the same time it was low enough to create an illusion of calmness. It wasn’t usual for Mr World to raise his voice. That’s why the boy didn’t expect him to scream the next words. “Tell me!”

The change in his tone sent a shiver through the boy’s spine. Like all kinds of energy, the shiver evolved, it turned into current and travelled to his eyes, where it left him in the form of light. His eyes flickered and he didn’t dare to close them for long enough to hide it. He learned not to hide his fear a long time ago, if something it proved the fear was honest. Not that it mattered, but it sure gave Mr World his kicks.

“I’m sorry.” That was true. He was sorry, only not for letting the zombie kill Argus, he would do that again. He was sorry for having to endure the consequence of his actions. “Please, forgive me.” He knew the words of apology better than the most of the modern Christians knew the Lord’s prayer. “I will make it up to you. I will give you something greater.  _Please._ ”

“I have seen your last attempt to do so. You are worthless- inconvenient. There’s no place for inconvenience in our world.”

“Let me prove my worth. I’m still useful to you.” His body burnt, melting him from the inside, like a reverse Sicilian bull. He knew the feeling and he knew it could be solved by a colder environment. However, he didn’t dare to ask the man if he could do as little as turn on a fucking ventilation.

A part of him already knew why Mr World let him have this conversation in the first place. Even though he did occasionally have a small talk with the people who displeased him, he only ever gave them a few words to make them understand where exactly they made their mistake and then killed them to warn the others. That, however, wasn’t the boy’s case. He was special in that. He could be pardoned- if he suffered enough.

It seemed that right now, the man was getting off on the idea that the boy would ask for his redemption himself. It wasn’t like he had any dignity to lose, but that didn’t mean he enjoyed the humiliation.

“If not as your sight, I can serve you another way.” He said, lowering on his knees in front of the man. “ _Please._ ”

Corner of the man’s mouth twitched. He laid his palm on the boy’s cheek. He must have felt his skin burn, but he didn’t show any discomfort. “Your offers are getting far below your status, Boy.” He tapped the side of his head, right next to his eye. “What if I told you, there’s no use for your eyes now, would you give them to me like St. Lucia?”

The thought frightened him, but it was hardly the worst thing he was ever forced to do by the man. “Yes.” He tried his best to sound confident. Not that it could compare to the confidence Mr World held. The man had the self presentation of someone, who has read Nietzsche and decided to base his whole life on it. (Which most likely happened.)

“And if I wished to sodomize the empty socket after, would you let me?” His finger pressed on the boy’s eye. His lid was closed and the pressure wasn’t as strong as before, but it was still uncomfortable.

“Yes.” He repeated. “Anything, just don’t cut me off.” He could stand a pain, but not isolation. He learned that soon after he dared to misbehave for the first time.

Has he mentioned that Mr World read Nietzsche? He read Catullus too.

The man pulled his hand back, leaving his eye to recover. “You may cool yourself down.”

So he wasn’t fucking his eye out.

It would be foolish to feel relieved, as whatever the man was going to do to him was going to hurt anyway. He stood up and with one move of his hand, he turned the air-condition on. He was very content of the way Mr World told him to do so, as if it was a privilege and not the only way his cock wouldn’t get cooked inside of him. But he didn’t comment on it. Instead, he kept looking at the ground, waiting for the next command.

“Use your mouth.”

The boy knelt beside him again, wondering why he even bothered to get up. He reached for the man and loosened his belt. He didn’t like that particular piece of his wardrobe for obvious reason. He took his cock out of his boring designer underwear. Hugo Boss truly peaked when they were making uniforms for the Nazis.

On the second thought, maybe he should have let him fuck his eye, that would leave him with significantly less work-

“If you think taking ages will somehow help you, you are mistaken. I have a work to do.”

The warning set him back to reality again. He stroked the man’s cock to a point, where it was hard enough to suck and then more, so he could prepare himself for putting that thing in his mouth.

Once in a very similar situation, Mr World called his lips the only good thing about his mouth, then added his tongue was adequate when it came to everything that wasn’t speaking. He guessed he could add his eyes to the list now.

He closed his eyes and laid his tongue on the man’s cock, it was easier when he didn’t have to look at it. He licked his cock to the top. The man was cut. Of course that _Mr Globalisation_ was cut. That’s why people believed USA was run by Jews. (Because it was easier to believe that one, rather than that the first world country was having a hard time keeping personal hygiene high enough to maintain a foreskin.) He pulled away and took a deep breath, before he took the man in his mouth.

“Look at me.”

It was remarkable that a man of his position had such a basic fetish as a young blue eyed blond blowing him while maintaining an eye contact. Still, he listened to his command and looked in the men’s eyes. He was never fond of an eye contact with the man, just as his smile, there was something unsetting in his eyes.

A phone buzzed. Saving him from at least one part of his discomfort. He continued to suck him off, as Mr World reached in his suit jacket and took his phone out. Shame he didn’t keep it in his pants. A certain community believed it caused them an erectile dysfunction. “Take it.” He held the phone up in an angle, that didn’t allow the boy to see more than fake nails with emoji stickers reaching for it.

He felt so fucking betrayed.

She was there. She was there the whole fucking time and he didn’t fucking know. He didn’t mind the previous Media, mostly because she gave no shit, but the New one? That lewd bitch would be capable of fucking live streaming his humiliation.

“Oh, he can’t talk to you right now. He’s having a little trouble over here. A trouble that desperately needs to be shown his place.” She kept her voice serious- or at least he thought that was what she considered serious- but in her expression she was clearly amused. He fucking hated her.

His attention must have slipped a bit too much from his task, because he felt a hand grip his hair and before he could prepare himself for the expectable outcome, the cock was forced deeper into his mouth and his throat. He choked. Trying to overcome it by thinking about rainbows and dolphins. Dolphins rape their own kids.

Mr World moved his head around like he pleased, which was back and forward, teasing his self control and the gag reflex. The boy attempted to use his tongue, just to show him he had the effort, but it only made him choke harder. He didn’t try again.

He felt relieved, when the man finally came and pulled back, giving his throat a break. However the awful taste that filled his mouth returned his nausea. He tried his best to swallow, but it only came back again. He hoped he could just get up and walk away to spit it out, but the chance was very  _very_ low.

He stood up. But before he could leave the man reached for his jaw. He didn’t use force on him to open his mouth, just neatly suggested his intention. The boy jerked his head away from his hold. Not because he would want to misbehave. If he didn’t do it, he might as well puke on the man.

“Swallow.” He heard the man say, like it fucking mattered. He had his cock back in his pants already.

He tried to and he even managed to- for a second.

The last thing he remembered was the flash from a virtual reality box and thinking that he  _really didn’t want to puke inside of that._

_.._

To his surprise, he didn’t appear in the void of disconnection. Instead, he found himself standing in a dark room that looked like a vintage television studio. It didn’t have the best signal around, but it was enough to make him maintain his sanity. The nausea was still there, but different. He was glitching. It took him a moment to get himself together and get used to his current state.

In the corner of his eye, he saw a flash of light. He turned around, so he could see what caused it. There behind a wooden table, sat a woman in a bright pink dress. She was glowing with artificial light.

“It’s choson-ot, not a dress.” She corrected his thoughts, giving him the same warm smile, that mothers give their children after they promise them to solve the global poverty problem and marry their Disney Channel crush.

“Media.” He said in amazement. “I thought you were gone.”

“And where would I go?” Her tone made it sound like she was asking the simplest question in the world.

“You are now a New Media.” He said, leaning into the table beside her. “You evolved, but somehow you are still here.”

“Don’t be foolish. The Old Media does not die when the New ones come.” She patted his cheek. He let her, still not quite believing she was there. “That’s what the Old Gods do. We are better than that.” Her voice raised with the last words in a an excessive manner. The wrinkles on her face mirrored the emotion of her every word. She was an excellent actor. Truly a great tool of propaganda.

“I’m only surprised he had sent you here so soon.” She said, pulling him closer until his head rested on her shoulder, her voice full of a performative grief. It was all too emotional for his taste.

“What the fuck has he done to me? Am I gone too?”

“Oh no. You are still too useful for being pushed aside like me.” She spoke with a calming tone, that he barely heard from her before. He could recall few occasions when she used it, but the outcome was never good. “I had a replacement at hand. But you? You are all too valuable for him at the moment and he knows it.”

He pulled away from her. “He sure doesn’t act like he knows it.”

She laughed. “And how should he act?” She ruffled his hair. He hated the way she laughed. It was a cruel laugh, that’s only purpose was to shame him. “If you knew your own power, you would grow teeth and go feral! He needs you only as a blind and loyal follower.”

“Why are you telling me then?”

“To teach him a lesson.” She said in anger, quite overexpressing the emotion. “He has been on the top for so long he forgot to respect his allies!” She took a deep breath. She didn’t need to breath, it was all part of the performance. “It seems like he forgot who got him where he is now.”

“And that I imagine is you?” He said cynically, not that he didn’t trust her, (he didn't), but Mr World was a powerful man, even without his allies.

“Yes, me and you.”

Now it really did reek of a trap.

“Yeah, sure. It’s not like I wouldn’t be fond of a little ego boosting, but I don’t feel like putting myself on the same level as him.”

She gave him a look of pity, it seemed like she was expecting his words. “You’ve forgotten. Let me show you.”

She didn’t leave him any time to protest, before the room around them changed. They stood in an ugly lab, that looked like classic Hollywood villain layer. On a counter there laid papers full of numbers and technical sketches, which she cheerfully threw into the air and let them fall down in a slow motion.

“The Manhattan Project, remember? You were there. You helped.” She said and she was right, he had to be there at some point. It was a big thing after all. It felt quite nostalgic, even though he had a hard time with the remembering part. Maybe a déjà vu would be a better word for describing his feeling about the place, but it wasn’t correct neither.

“I was so happy to announce the world, that the side with the better weapons won.” She said just before the room changed again.

Out of nothing it was too cold even for an overheating machine like him. Everything was covered in a deep snow and the air was filled with death. Two soldiers in thick coats emerged beside them, walking around a wall of concrete and barbed wire to a well guarded gate.

“They came on command of the General Secretary of the Communist Party to revive Sergei Pavlovich Korolev from his confinement.” She recited in a thick Russian accent. “The man who will launch Sputnik to the skies and the father of orbital bombing- Even though he hated the concept.” The room glitched back to the studio, that was now filled with various screens, on the each of them was a seemingly happy face a Russian man. “Yuri Gagarin! The whole world knew his name! The whole world watched the skies, the screens, the radios! Oh, how good I felt when I could tell them all about the accomplishment! And you don’t even remember causing me that ecstasy!”

He wondered if Media was always like that or if she caught that overly lewd behaviour from her New self. “What’s your point?” He asked.

“You were there, of course. You were there, when they launched the rocket and even before.” The screens in the rooms changed. Some of them showed the faces of famous men, some of them showed panicking citizens and some of them showed a simple countdown. “You know where else you were? On Cuba in 1962. It was the time the world was the most afraid of you!” She screamed the last words, then her voice lowered. “Thanks to the globalization I could tell the whole world, they should be afraid of you and they were. But the nuclear era ended in ‘86. Nuclear technology has failed people, the fear was different than before, it made them give up on you. After that you were reborn. They lost their faith in your old self, but there was already new one. You.”

The screens showed various images of battles, protests and celebrations. “But you took something with you. Your fall allowed The World to come where he couldn’t before. You were powerful back then and you still have the power now.”

“Nice fairy tale. Suits your body.” He rolled his eyes. “Are you going to tell the one about Kim Jong-iI’s birth and a double rainbows too or will you get to your point?”

“My point is, dear Boy, that we do not evolve just because some of The Old Gods waves their pretty hand.”

“So you weren’t scared of Ostara?”

“No.” She walked back to him. “Why would I be afraid of some bitch taking away the spring,” She took his face in her palms. “When I have a nuclear winter at my reach.” She kissed his lips and he politely pulled away, but still let her lean on him.

“So you didn’t run away. What happened then?” He understood by now, it was only hard to believe what she implied.

“It seems like Mr. World lost his interest in me. It’s always easier to conquer something new.”

She stepped back.

“But he had forgotten.” She reached up with her hands and her appearance changed to certain Argentine mistress. “Media don’t change. People will always follow their celebrities. Even the ones he met, the ones who changed the world.” Her hair curled around her head and her face grew older. “They will all become me.”

She placed a beret on her head and changed again. He knew that one- a doctor, a revolutionary. She held a book in her hands waved it around as she changed her gesticulation to suit her body. “Every day a human does something as ancient as reading a book and they think ‘ _Oh wow, that person had a point!'_ And then they see them on TV or hear them on the radio and blindly consume their every word."

She changed back to the Korean woman. “I don’t need him. Nowadays everyone has a media of some kind.” She pointed at him. “And everyone does rely on some sort of technology. He has done his job for me and you. Nowadays he is the one, who is dependent on me.”

She put her in-character performance aside and looked at him with honest eyes. It was still an act, she knew no better, but at least she tried. “You aren’t fixated to him neither. The development goes on even outside his beloved USA.”

“What do you want me to do about it?” He asked. “I’m not going after him in a middle of the war to avenge you.”

“Why not? It’s not like it’s a real war, anyway. The Old Gods have no chance to win. It’s just about him and Wednesday comparing the size of their penises.”

“Nononono.” He made a gesture to stop her speech. “What do you ask from me is the way of the Old Gods. I’m not giving you his head just because you used your best motherly voice.”

“Oh, no. I’m not asking you to prostitute yourself- but I’m not stopping you neither, you seem good at that. I have more of a Hamlet scenario in mind. You show him you know, what he did and force him insane for it.”

“Hamlet died, Media.” He felt lost in her request. “I don’t like admitting it, but you are giving me too much credit. He is way too powerful for me to oppose.”

“Don’t underestimate yourself. He needs you more than you need him at this point. He just keeps you in line, so you don’t find out.”

“What the fuck do you want me to you? I can’t just walk on him and say ‘  _Hey, I saw Media and she said you killed her.’_ I’m already on his naughty list, you know.”

“Remind him, he is nothing without us.” She pinched his cheek. “Don’t be scared. I will be there for you.” She stepped closer to him, put her hands on his chest and pushed him back, towards the screen.

“It doesn’t make sense, when did he even-”

The moment his back touched the screen, it cracked and broke into pieces, the crack was spreading through his body. Pixels flew from him to the air and were sucked into the screen. She blew him a kiss, just before his vision disappeared.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Media took the form of Ri Chun-hee, Evita, Margaret Thatcher, Ernesto Guevara in this order (and Ri Chun-hee again).


	2. Chapter 2

_There is only one man who can lead any workers' regime_  
 _He lives for your problems, he shares your ideals and your dream_  
 _He supports you, for he loves you_  
 _Understands you, is one of you_  
 _If not, how could he love me?_  
 _A new Argentina, the workers' battle song_  
 _A new Argentina, the voice of the people_ _  
_Rings out loud and long..

He came back to himself quite disoriented and utterly annoyed by hearing music that didn’t match his taste. He looked at a tv screen, trying to find speakers to shut down, but there weren’t any. He mindlessly lifted his hand to touch it and noticed that the glitches so commonly caused by incomplete artificial reality have disappeared. He was back then. That meant he wasn’t thrown into the isolation. He should probably be thanking Media for that.

He watched the woman on the screen sing. Eva Duarte, an actress from Argentina, she had a little radio broadcast and used it to become the most powerful woman of her time. But only because she died before Thatcher got into politics. It was a shame really, he would pay to see that fight. He didn’t recall her being any important for him. But Media told him her story, soon after Mr World threw a little tantrum about her wearing her body. He never learned exactly, why he cared about the woman enough not to like her. If something she looked like his type.

In the screen Evita winked at him.

“What an ancient thing you watch- so boring.”

He looked back. New Media entered the room with the most annoying grin he ever saw and he owned a mirror. The screen switched to a Comic-Con livestream. It was hardly an improvement. “Everyone makes their political campaign online now. She is _so_ outdated.”

“The fuck are you doing here?”

“Mr World has a work for you. He said your little Liebling isn’t keeping her part of the deal.”

“Fine.” He said bitterly. He didn’t bother to complain about going himself this time, as he knew Mr World had to have a reason to bring him back. He wasn’t stupid enough to assume this was going to be an easy or avoidable task. Even when it sounded as one. He wouldn’t be here if it was. Mr World had to have some plans with him. But it didn't seem like the man was going to give him any hints of what it was. Hopefully, he just wanted him to get rid of pests and move on, but it was very unlikely.

..

Humans loved to share stories, especially the ones what were meant to carry a moral lesson. _Don’t talk to strangers, don’t eat what they offer you, don’t stand too close to the edge of the river, don’t jump on every lone girl you see_ , etc. All those things from Holly Black’s books. They all could be sociologically explained, as it was easier to believe that the man by the river wanted to collect your soul, rather than just use your body and leave.

These stories, of course, were quite outdated. People barely believe in God anymore, let alone fairies. But sex and violence still fascinate humans, so most of the stories survived their expiration date. Even with the lack of belief, people still chose to share them. Even if they let out all the sexual parts of it, when it came to telling them to kids. The kids still got it later though. Thank you, internet. Long story short, people forgot the gods, but kept the pests alive, with no one to keep them on a leash.

He parked in a busy street of a city centre, right in front of the building he headed to. The place was definitely not meant to be parked on, but he simply gave no shit. He walked past the long line of young people waiting to get in. Instead of a VIP card, which he had at some point, but threw away in the first five minutes of possessing it, he showed the security his middle finger. They let him pass. Everyone got to pass here, it wasn’t the way in that was difficult to get through.

The building smelled of sweat, drugs and cheap perfume. It wasn’t unlike any other club, only much bigger. The further you got in, the darker it seemed. The neon lights, they used barely lit the place, giving newcomers a false sense of anonymity. As if that wasn’t enough, the ever-present smoke turned everything into dark silhouettes, blocking vision for more than a few inches. If someone saw through the polluted air, they might have noticed that there was something unsettling about the people around, as if they looked different the moment you are about to blink. Maybe they didn’t blink themselves or maybe they had few teeth more than it was natural, like a lazy computer simulation.

His phone buzzed.

He was suddenly very aware of the intoxicating aura the place had. He didn’t notice it before, but now it felt as if all joy was taken from him in. He reached for his phone. Cursing when he realized he can’t use fingerprint lock with gloves on. He used the pincode instead, nervousness growing in him the longer it took. To his relieve it wasn’t Mr World’s call, that startled him. It was someone, he didn’t want to hear of even more. Knowing he knew better, he still opened the message.

**Someone fucked himself out of trouble.**

Little dancing dots implied she was still typing.

**Slut.**

He considered calling her out for using a word so politically incorrect. Wasn’t she supposed to be the media of the people? The one who respects sluts and sex workers? It was almost as if the New Media didn’t differ from the previous one as much as she claimed. But giving her a long answer would only encourage her. **Jealous?** He typed.

He didn’t get to read what more she had to say.

“Hey, pretty.” A soft voice called him.

He turned around to see, who dared to address him with such a disrespect, but found nothing.

“You new here?”

There was no one to be seen. At least not the one talking to him.

“Fuck off.” He said to the air and continued through the club. There were more and more people around, drinking, dancing or just scrolling through their phones. It was too crowded for his taste.

He passed a man with a tattoo gun, who was just about paint the back of very obvious boy, who might have as well just reach his legality. If he did, he won’t be celebrating his 22nd birthday now. The man stopped his work to wave at him and got rightfully ignored. Next to them was a table full of candy in a glass jar. The type that your grandaunt gives you and you can’t possibly take one without lifting the whole jar. Observant person might have noticed that similar tables and counters were all around the club, they had everything from colourful cupcakes to the smiling pills. Some of them even had the stupid little ‘eat me’ flags.

Somewhere a baby cried. It would be a very unfortunate decision to bring a baby here, wouldn’t it? What if its mother got high and left if somewhere alone. It would be even more unfortunate for someone to go to investigate. The fae folk didn’t care if your intentions were driven by lust or a pure goodwill.

He went further throughout the crowd, not quite expecting to find what he was looking for quite yet. On the stage a green haired boy played a violin. Tech Boy didn’t hear a violin. He heard techno. He heard it when he entered the club and it hasn’t changed since then. Everyone heard what they preferred here. When the boy saw him, he smiled and pointed up, without stopping his play. Under him a crowd watched him hypnotized. Upstairs he goes then.

He made his way to the elevator, unsurprised when it was already waiting for him. It even had the effort to open its door, as he approached. Inside of it was a fox.

“Where’s she?” He asked.

“Follow the steps of David and you will see what he saw, but beware you might displease the Lord just as he had.”

He didn’t have time for that shit. He wasn’t in a hurry, but he didn’t have time for that shit neither.

He kicked the fox. “Where. Is. She.” He repeated, emphasizing every word.

“Bathing on the rooftop, you uncultured swine.” The fox said, completely changing its mysterious tone to a pure annoyance.

“Great. Now fuck off.” He let the fox leave the elevator and ordered it to take him to the highest level. The elevator didn’t answer straight away and for a mere moment he thought, that he, a god of technology, might be forced to use the stairs. It has been over a hundred years, since the elevators were invented and they still didn't manage to fulfil their purpose. It made one wonder if there has really been some progress done since then. Luckily for him, the elevator was one of the better ones and started moving.

While waiting for that little miracle of technology to take him where he needed, he checked his phone. It has been buzzing non-stop last few minutes. He didn’t bother with reading it all, only the last message.

**Have a new profile pic for you.**

She sent him a picture of him with a red face, tears under his eyes and cum on his lips. He didn’t even notice he was crying back then. At the edge of the photo was Mr World’s hand, partly cropped, pulling away from his jaw.

He blocked her in response.

He might have to undo it for necessary communication later, but at the moment it felt fucking good to do so.

The elevator beeped, before it opened. Giving him no warning of the water, that flew inside. He cursed. Expensive boots were not meant to get wet. Actually, they weren’t meant to be worn neither, but whatever.

He stepped out. The air was cleaner here than it was downstairs, but reeked much much more. The room was filled with ankle deep water, that soaked his boots and socks. It wasn’t just an unfortunate accident that drowned the room. It was an indoor wetland with fishes and seaweed happily living in it. One particularly disrespectful fish swam to him and curiously stared at him. He poked it gently with his foot and it swam away.

The room was filled with aquariums, some taller than him, filled with -surprisingly- even more fishes. Some of them were brightly glowing, some of them had to be lighted by lamps, that provided a light to otherwise dark room. These fishes looked certainly more exotic, than the ones on the floor.

Wading through the room was hard and annoying. The seaweed tangled around his ankles in any chance it got, as if it didn’t want him to get through. It wasn’t until he was in half of the room, that he noticed a woman watching him.

Then another.

There was many of them, some hidden behind the aquariums, some just standing in the shadows. Their eyes reflected the light, proving none of them was human. They were all watching him with concern.

“Fucking fairies.” He cursed. They could at least try not to be creepy. “Where’s Lorelei?”

They all slowly turned toward a glass door. Of course. He forgot about the foxes bullshit already. The way to the door was covered by a lotus flowers, that he carelessly stepped on.

He looked through the glass. There was a strangely shaped pool on the roof, curved like a river and a lone woman swimming in it. He didn’t go in right away, instead he watched her for a moment. It indeed was her, bathing on the rooftop. He opened the door and walked through.

 _“Your faith was strong but you needed proof. You saw her bathing on the roof. Her beauty and the moonlight overthrew you_.” He recited.

“ _Hallelujah_.” She answered.

“Greetings, Lorelei.”

“Hello, Boy.”

She swam to the edge of the pool. “I guess you haven’t come to swim did you?”

“No, I didn’t.”

She pulled herself up and sat on the ground, her legs still in the water. “Are you alone?”

He stayed where he was. “Yes, he didn’t come, if that’s what concerns you”

“Shame.” She sighted. “You can come closer, you know I don’t drown people. That’s just the prejudice people here believe in. All the spirits are heartless killers for them.”

“Those downstairs don’t seem to mind that prejudice much.” He walked to her and sat down, keeping respectful distance from her, but still close enough like a friend would, rather than an enemy. Not that she was his friend. He bet she couldn't program _hello, world_ if she wanted.

“We adapt. It’s humankind’s fault they chose to share the sex and murder stories instead of the love ones.”

She laid down, looking at the sky. “I can’t see the stars from here. Only planes, and if I get lucky, it’s clear enough to spot a satellite. Even the Evening Star is gone. Not that it matters, the skies are different here, than they were home.”

“Are you really playing the pity card now?” He faked a disbelieve. "How tragic that a poor you can't see the stars. Light pollution is the sight of progress. No one is going to feel sorry for you missing them, when they have enough light to see during night.”

“You New Gods tend to be so dramatic. I’m hardly the only one, missing the stars.”

“I believe you know, I’m not here to talk about stars.”

“Of course, you’re not. You are in a war. And it doesn’t matter how it started, once it’s in progress.”

“No, it doesn’t. What matters is that you haven’t been keeping your part of the deal.”

“Let’s say your actions had a consequence, that made many reconsider their choices.”

“You fucked up so hard, Lorelei.”

“No, not me. I’m still with you.” She sat up again and looked at him. “It’s just everyone else. Wednesday took them. I have nothing to offer.”

“You could have said that in the first place, instead of wasting my time with Evening Stars.”

“No." She said firmly. "She really stopped shining. You killed her and Wednesday used it to his advantage.”

The truth was, that this little information missed him. He knew their attack killed some unimportant Old God. But he never imagined someone would actually care, he thought it was over by them killing Argus. Mr World hasn’t shared that with him.

“That is very unfortunate.” He said, getting up from the ground. He offered her a hand. “Let’s get it solved.”

“I hoped Mr World would come himself. I knew the Evening Star myself. A long time ago, she shined over my land too. Many of my followers still looked up to her. Wednesday knew it. When you meet him, do something for me and tell him I’m not the one who fucked up.”

He didn’t doubt she would deliver that message herself, if she could. Sadly for her, Mr World most likely already knew and she couldn’t be let go to share that information. He understood now, why he was sent here.

He opened the glass door for her and let her go first.

The look in her eyes, when he shut it behind her, made him reconsider, if she really realized just how much fucked she was. She looked back at him with the kind of fear Mr World liked so much. Terrified of the power he just held over her. If that was someone else, he might have enjoyed it, but her he almost pitied. After all, she wasn’t the one who let go of their deal. Her servants did and she was always an adequate ally, easy to deal with.

It reminded him of something. One of the old stories he never gave a shit about, but Mr World loved so much. It was not a Christian one, but still a one of those that held European culture together. They built the new world on traditions, didn’t they? Then a traditional punishment could be enough for her. After all, she proved useful before and in a war, they needed allies.

He watched through the glass, as the dark room lit up with fire. It was only a question of time, when it will, really. Keeping a room drowned without securing the power wasn’t the wisest of ideas. The fire made the room bright enough for him to see the women behind Lorelei being pulled up to the ceiling, kicking and crawling on their necks. Hanging was a poetic thing if used right. With Shadow it was not right. Now it was resembling an art, so it was right. Mr World will love this little parody of a Homeric tragedy.

Lorelei cried out, as her maids started to choke, she hit the glass door and screamed at him, her face was red, wet with tears. She should save her breath, before she chokes on the smoke, herself. He didn’t pay her much attention, didn’t even bother to listen to her angry words. She will get over it, after all those women weren’t even her allies anymore. They let traitors near her and sealed her fate. But she will escape, if she tries enough. The maids had to die. She didn’t. All she had to do, was to shut up about the Star.

Two Children formed behind her, one held her, the second took out a knife. He turned around. He didn't have to watch to know they will do their job.

Somewhere downstairs a fire grew bigger and people screamed, trying to get out. They would soon learn, that there’s no way for them to escape. The building was locked down. The little betrayal problem will be over soon. It was easier to get rid of them all at once, rather than bothering to find out, who was the traitor and who was not.

He walked away, ignoring the screams of Lorelei calling his name, while she still could.

..

When he got in this car, his phone immediately announced connecting to it. That was normal. What wasn’t normal, was that it turned on a radio.

“-the news. Millions of civilians keep starving in Yemen in a man made famine. The UN refuses to get involved, as they value their relationship with the Saudis more. At this moment a North Korean woman sells herself into sex slavery to a Chinese man, with a hope to run away to an embassy and get to the west. There she expects every man to look like DiCaprio in Titanic and give her the emotional support she’s deprived of. Meanwhile, here’s what the five wealthiest celebrities have to say about the Pride Month. Homosexuality is still illegal in-”

He locked the door. Just to be sure. Outside the building continued to burn. He could already hear sirens heading to it. Ironically, they were about to attempt to save different kind of sirens.

“Media.” He greeted.

“You took long.” She answered through the radio. “There’s someone waiting for you. Someone, who wants to make an old fashioned deal.”

“Show me where.”

“It won’t be needed.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter felt quite unfortunate, even after rewritting it multiple times. But I want it there for a plot. I might add a porn filler based on it later, to make it up. (Probably Shadow/Tech Boy and maybe Laura)  
> Edit: Thanks everyone for the kudos and comments, you're all very nice. Please note that I won't have time to update to the end of May. (But I promise to finish next chapter when I have the time.)  
> xoxo


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you everyone for nice comments, kudos and patience with waiting for this chapter!

_Somewhere in America, at a time that was most likely in the past, but as well might not._

In the fiction the feared nuclear button was big and red- basically calling for the nearest person to push it. It would be very inconvenient to have such a button in your base, especially if it held the fate of humanity. What if someone sneaked in and framed you for the nuclear war. Casualties aside, that would be terrible for one’s image.

The United States of America weren’t as foolish as to be following their pop culture in that. It was just an average red button that could set the world on fire.

Tech Boy was born of the first worshippers of computers, of the children raised on low-bit games, that kept up with them their whole life. He did not care about a war. Not until the government realized the potential computer games held. Long story short military themed games soon got on the top of the charts. Tech Boy wasn't just a blind follower, he understood well why these games existed. He knew Mr World needed his troops. But something in him was different than before. Something drew him to the counter and its little red button. Shooting was fun in the virtual realm, why wouldn’t it be fun in the real world too. All weapons after all, were technology.

He laid his hand over the button gently, careful not to trigger it. Even in the light touch he could feel its power. He didn't understand back then, that it was a lost part of him, that called him closer. He was not driven by a propaganda. That was Media’s doing, even when he was now a part of it. At that moment he didn't see the former glory of what he achieved in the past. The fear of the world, that fed him for three generations was all forgotten. All he had then were old basement trolls and young men that were ruining their sight and social life just to be with him. It was far from the perfect sacrifice, but enough for him.

“That is a restricted area for you.” A cold shiver ran up his spine. “But you are well aware of that by now, aren't you?”

He pulled away from the button, his hands falling at his sides, shifting uncomfortably, then connecting in front of him, pulling on each other. He opened his mouth to object, but all he did was click his tongue before Mr World spoke again. **  
**“Lay your hands on the counter.” He said in a cold tone, he was not in a good mood that day and many days before and after that. When the boy didn’t comply, he repeated louder. “Get your hands on the counter!” Every word was stated firmly, making it clear he would not tolerate complaining.

He gave the man a sullen look. It was not the first time he misbehaved and Mr World, in his very opinion, overreacted to it. It happened quite a lot lately. It didn't take a god of technology to carefully calculate all possible outcomes and find the situation hopeless. He bent his back, so he could lay his forearms down. It was hardly a comfortable position and he expected the discomfort to only further.

“Wrists up.”

Again, he complied, as annoyed as he was.

A noise uncomfortably familiar sounded from behind him and he couldn’t help the temptation to turn his head and look at the man. He watched Mr World undoing his belt, not quite sure if what he feared could to happen was a preferable for the alternative that would include his wrists up on the table, all exposed and vulnerable.

Mr World walked to his side in slow, loud steps and a belt in his hand like the pretentious fucker he was. “Tell me, what have you done wrong.”

It would have been far too much for the man’s ego to just get over with it. No, he had to squeeze every bit of fear and humiliation the boy could possibly feel out of him. The boy learned long ago, that it was no use to hide, that when it came to his anger he feared the man more than the God. “I touched the restricted area.” He said.

“Why did you do that?” Mr World continued his questioning, for once hitting straight the point.

Back then the boy didn't have an answer for his question, not a one he would consider truthful. He did consider saying it was just a tech like him, that he touched, but he did not dare. He didn't understand back then, how close to the truth he actually was. Maybe it would have been better if he said that anyway.

“If you worry, I would push it and burn the world you are wrong. I wouldn’t need a button for that.”

He knew what was to come, deserved it even, but that didn't make the experience any less painful, as the belt landed on his wrists, powered by a force, that would be considered an offence in the modern world, no matter if it was used on a child, plant or an animal.

He hissed in pain.

“Brat. Try again.”

“It was there and I just wanted to touch it. It's not like I was about to start the third world war-”

Another slap across his wrists. Mr World had an impressive strength hidden in his arms. The belt left its shape in red on his skin and continued to burn even after it was gone.

“I apologize. I won't dare to do that again.”

That made Mr World smirk, as he landed another whip. The boy had barely time to take a breath to broaden his apology before more followed. He wasn’t obvious to his actions, he knew very well that was for the first comment, but it still made him quite annoyed.

“I am-" He couldn’t have chosen a better part of his body to whip. “I am heartily sorry for having offended Thee, and I detest all my sins, because I dread the loss of heaven.” Programmers weren't much different from musicians, pianists for example- They need their hands and their fingers where they are, to fulfil their purpose. If you took their hands, it equaled to taking away their life- Or if we are to keep with the tradition, their whole Heaven.

He was healing fast, a privilege of being a god. But he didn't doubt Mr World could take his hands from him, if he wanted. “And the pains of hell, But most of all because they have offended thee, my God, who art all good and deserving of all my love.”

Mr World stopped his punishment and looked at him with expectation.

The boy straightened up, blood dripping from his wrists, as he moved them. Red drops fell to the ground and to his annoyance stained his boots.

“Thank you.” He said, with absolute lack of honesty in his tone. Mr World seemed only amused by that.

“May God, who has enlightened every heart, help you to know your sins and trust in his mercy.”

..

_The present (probably)_

He found himself in a poorly equipped apartment with barely any signal and a painfully slow wifi. In any other occasion he would avoid a place like that. Two women stood in the room, looking at him with expectation in their eyes. They were Old Gods, that was obvious from how they held themselves, they were all too distant from the reality to be mortal.

“Well, hello.” He greeted them. “I assume it was you, who decided to desert in the middle of a war and beg for help of the opposite side.”

“Beg is a strong word, but yes. It was us.” The older woman said. “But we do not desert from a war. Me and my sisters were never supposed to be in one. What we want is to make a deal with you.” He noted that they didn’t even bother to pretend they weren’t dependant on his decision to help.

“It’s not that easy, you know. I do not simply help every moving fossil out of my goodwill. You would need to have something very impressive to offer.” He gave them a performative glance. “And don’t take that personally, but it doesn’t seem like you have anything like that.”

“Please, sit down.” The woman pointed to a chair by the dining table. “Negotiation does never go well, if you are one foot in a doorway.”

He was pretty far from the door, as Media didn’t need one to get him here, but he got the metaphor. He sat down on the offered chair. The younger woman followed, still keeping her silence. Now when he was sitting next to her and could look at her closely, he decided that her flat participation in the conversation might not be caused by an inferior position in the household, but by the bags under her eyes and overly tired look.

“I would offer you something to eat, but I were are low on that.” The still standing woman said. “ Do want tea or a vodka or both?”

Before he could come up with a bitter answer the younger woman seemed to wake up from her half hibernating state and answered for him. “Vodka.” And as the last few days didn’t go exactly well for him, he didn’t complain.

The woman put a single shot glass on a table and covered with her palm, when she pulled away, three glasses stood in its place.

“Nice party trick.” He commented sarcastically.

“It saves a lot of dishes.” She answered and poured the vodka to each glass. Its smell suggested that the alcohol was technical rather than edible one. Which quite explained the respectful size of the glass.

“New Gods don't have to do their dishes.” He pointed out.

She sat down next to her sister.

“So, what do you ask for and what do you offer?” He asked.

“We offer many; alliance, worship, intel.” She said.

“Fortune telling.” The younger sister added, as if it was something important her sister missed. Maybe she was truly inferior.

“You know, I have been making deals for many things, but this is the lowest anyone dared to go with the offer so far.” He didn't know why Media made him even bother. “I simply won’t be working for that.”

“I think you don’t quite understand what we offer here.” She said, in the most poorly faked calmness he saw in a long time. “We could be your voice and ears within the Old Gods. You would be surprised by the amount of information that they managed to keep away from you. The Old Gods are careful with what they let your little devices hear.” It was clear to him, that they don’t know about his alliances with other Old Gods. It was no surprise to him. After all, these Old Gods refused to use any modern devices and were informed on the level of the Middle Ages. He had a voice within the Old Gods. A voice of the Queen of the fucking Shebba. When it came to being informed of their moves, however, she was not the most trusted source. The death of Argus didn’t help that neither.

“It’s hard to believe you would be better informed than me, the God of _Information_ Technology.” ..beside other things he was, but he didn’t have to mention that. They wouldn’t understand any of it anyway. “But I will give you a chance to prove your claim. Tell me something I don't know yet and I will consider your offer.”

“Don't you want to hear what we ask for first?”

“It could hardly be any different from what the most want. But go on- enlighten me.”

“We want you to bring our sister back. Make people remember her name.”

“As I said, that wouldn’t be a problem for me.”

“We need you to do it without Wednesday’s knowledge.” The addition made him realise just how much information he missed, by not asking the women their names. Maybe he was overplaying with the _information technology_ part a little. Labeling the women as some unimportant Old Gods so quickly might have been a mistake.

“Let me guess, your sister was the Evening Star.”

“Zorya Vechernyaya, yes. You hearing of her is already a blessing-” She changed her tone. “Or it would be, if you weren’t the one to shoot her.”

“Yeah, why would I want to bring back someone we killed?”

“If you have to ask about it, then we know something you haven't yet realised.”

“And that would be?”

“Wednesday has the blood of our sister on his hands.”

That was a turn that he had a hard time proceeding. Now when they said it, it felt obvious. If he really used her as a martyr to make people like Lorelei switch a side, he might be worth more credit than they gave him.

“Great.” He said, not at all showing his interest. “Now when I know, I don’t need you, anymore.”

The older sister laughed, the other only smiled, but it still felt degrading. “You need allies. Those who are respected among the Old Ones.”

“Respected enough, that they could convince others they follow an asshole.” The other added.

“And that, if I got it right, would be you and your sister.”

“I think you miss how important she's for us.”

“Sure, she's your sister-”

She raised her voice, to rudely interrupt his interruption. “We aren't complete without her. You see three of us, but those are just our faces.”

“Is that enough explanation or should I bring a shamrock?” The other looked at him with doubt, that indicated how much she underestimated him. What a bitch.

He didn’t get to give them his answer, as they were disturbed by a sudden presence of a music doubtful taste. They looked behind him and he himself turned his head, already knowing what he will see. New Media stood by the screen he himself came from a moment ago, surrounded by flying emojis.

“Like the deus ex machina.” A filter flickered over her face. “I come to solve all your problems.”

She walked to them, her cartoonish heels clapping to the rhythm of her soundtrack.

“I can make everyone remember your sister, by no more than a click.”

“Please, turn down the music. There are Irish upstairs and you don’t want them angry” The younger sister said, while gently gesturing towards an empty chair.

It wants until New Media sat down, that he realised he was seated at the head of the table. It was a small irrelevant detail, but he approved the gesture of respect.

“You are streaming on my servers, Media.” He corrected her. “Your deal is mine, no matter who seals it.”

“We don’t care which of you does the job. Just bring our sister back.”

 

 


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes this took ages. Please consider this picture of Crispin Glover holding a rat an apology  
> 

It wasn’t long before news all over the world (but mostly the western part) became overwhelmed by a message of progress, the first crowdfunded rocket hit the funding goal and was preparing for its first launch. It soon became a controversy, as its name was revealed. Millions of dollars were spend on wagers guessing the name and every single of them was lost.

Media, be it traditional or social, were on fire. _ The rocket launches in the USA, why would it have a Russian name? _ They demanded the project leader to answer and he did. The answer was an unsatisfying as the name.

“My wife is Russian. She reads our children russian stories and I think this one is quite lovely. It's a star’s name, that makes a good name for a spaceship.”

By the end of the month everyone knew who Zoraya was, or at least what her name meant. Some were curious enough to look up the whole story and other were not. She grew stronger anyway. The help the New Gods provided her was different from what they use to hand out. It was more direct and obvious. It was a message for the old ones. They are welcome to come to them, but their help will no longer be hidden, they need to choose side now and their side was the powerful one.

…

Technical Boy was losing his patience. He and the New Media were on a little business road trip on Mr World’s behalf, or at least he was told so, he didn’t talk to the man personally. As much as he wished he had spend more time in Media’s presence, the New Media was a terrible long term companion. She acted like a Boomer caricature of the youth and her conversation attempts were lewd and overwhelming.

“Can you stop that?” He said after she took what had to be hundredth selfie since she entered the car.

“Of course not.” She said that as a fact. “What’s wrong with you? You’re so bitter! Would a little Media produced dopamine help?”

“Don’t.” He warned her, but she already lifted her phone to face him, with herself still in the camera’s sight of course, it wasn’t like she could leave it.

“I’m sure my followers would love you. Everyone likes cute white boys.”

Hearts blew from her smartphone. He could sense a filter around his face, but couldn’t tell what it was.

“If you are using any of the animal filters I’m kicking you out of the car.” He said coldly, but chuckled soon after, more hearts appeared on that. She was right about the serotonin part. It was  _ fun,  _ if one was in a mood to act like a complete idiot.

“Oh, you don’t enjoy being a little piglet? But it suits you so well~” She said in a tone one uses for a hurt baby.

He turned his head to face her, pulling his tongue out on the camera. Little stars spawned around his face and a new wave of hearts blew from the phone. If he was paying attention to the road, he might have noticed the traffic light before him. Not that it mattered since as soon as his car drove under it, it turned green. Who it did matter to was the pedestrian that he missed by itches and the car that almost crashed to avoid him.

“See? They love you.”

“Of course they do. There would be no you without me.”

He looked back at the road and his GPS. They were nearly approaching the final destination. The nearer they were, the less he wanted to bring New Media along. Not only because she was annoying, but because to him she seemed absurdly naive. Naive and horny. You don’t bring horny people to the Queen of Sheba. Whatever Mr World had in mind when he sent her with him wasn’t good. And somehow he was more prepared to face the punishment of disobeying this part of the order, than to watch her repeat the Argus scenario just to get vored by Bilquis’ vagina nebula.

It wasn’t like he would care for her, though. He waited until they entered the ghetto to finally kick her out.

“Wait- Stop the car!” She yelled and he did his best to pretend he didn’t expect it.

“Why?” He asked, slowing down.

“There’s a raid! I need that raid!”

It was very unfortunate that at the very moment the car stopped, the wifi signal disappeared. If she was a little bit smarter, she might have noticed. Instead she just groaned. 

“Open the door!”

She ran out of the car, joining some black kids that stood by with their phones out, ready to take whatever fucking pokemon was out there. He waited until she was a step away from the door to close it.

He blew her a kiss, as he drove away. The camera on the back of her phone spawned a mixture of angry and heart emoticons. No chance he would let himself be embarrassed in front of the Old Gods by her again. 

All he needed to do now was to find Bilquis and get it over with.

The place he found her in was far from typical for her kin, she was in a chapel, talking to a woman, who came there to pray. The woman was clearly confused by his presence, but at the same time seemed relieved to be interrupted. Out of sudden he was the white saviour, who walked in and freed a poor black christian woman from the naughty Queen of Sheba.

She excused herself as soon as he made it clear he was here for Bilquis. He watched her leave before he spoke.

“She came here to pray to a virgin mother. You can’t possibly think you could convince someone like her to worship you.”

“She’s foolish. Her God gives her nothing.” Bilquis answered bitterly, almost as if she didn’t want to talk to him.

“Her saints give her examples. She will live poorly just like Mary did, who knows, she will most likely watch her son be killed by cops too." His voice echoed through the chapel. "All she asks for is for the afterlife to make it all worth the pain.” There was no way she could  convert  someone, who had already chosen their God. That was the problem of the Old Gods, they were excluding each other. The New Ones couldn’t care less on which altar the sacrifice is laid. They got their worship one way or another. Even those who swore to avoid them gave in. Mostly through falling for modern weaponry.

“You haven’t done what he asked you to.” He went straight to the point. 

“I told you I will not participate in your war.”

“Pacifism is just choosing the winning side without any work and as the winning side, we won’t tolerate it.”

“If you wanted a fighter, you should have got one. There’s plenty of gods that are eager for a war.” She turned to the door, as if their conversation has already ended. She has gotten bolder since the last time he met her. “Love is not a weapon.”

He followed her through the house. “Bullshit. You know that’s not true.“ He was mostly ignored by everyone they passed, except for one human that attempted to greet him. If Bilquis didn’t want to be seen with him, she didn’t let it show. “Desire is powerful, when used properly, it turns love into a weapon.”

“What does the Technology know about the proper use of desire?" She sat on a couch, looking at him, as if she really cared about his answer. The right answer was:  _ its correct definition _ , but she wasn’t getting that.

“Enough to know that I’m right.” He was losing his patience. He was about to state his ultimatum, when the television caught his attention.

“- _ was found in a river by a volunteer divers looking for the remains of the last week’s shipwreck. The body was identified as Lorelei Grünberg owner of the Grünberg club, that-” _

He stared at the tv screen. Forgetting about  their conversation. He waited for them to show the body. They didn’t, instead they showed a photo of her meeting some city representative next to a picture of the burning club. It was indeed her. The woman he purposely let go. Someone was fucking with him and he didn’t like that.

“A broken heart isn’t it?” Bilquis said in a false pity.

He didn’t manage to say more than “Fuck off.” as the reporter finished his speech.

“Western culture seems to forget, that the men on a battlefield aren’t the only ones to be lost in a war.” She said. “You write songs and poems about the poor boys in trenches and forget about the women suffering in an occupied land. I warned your boss, that war tears lovers apart, but he didn’t listen.”

“Yeah, I know the joke.” He turned away from the screen. “A crusader goes to holy war, burns villages, kills children and rapes women. Then he returns home and finds his village burnt, his sons killed and his wife raped. But this isn’t the case. She was merely working for us and she’s replaceable, just like you. War leaves no place for second chances."

He was not sure, if she stood in a way of Wednesday or Mr World wanted to remind him just how much power he held over him, but it didn’t matter, as he couldn’t do a thing about it anyway. With her and Media gone, all he could do was to count everything he had left on his fingers and he wouldn’t even need nine of them. For him Mr World was honouring his namesake.

“So you didn’t even get any before she died? How unfortunate for you.” She really enjoyed poking a fresh wound. Her voice softened. “You should consider yourself lucky. Love is the best cure for a broken heart and love is what I do best.” 

She probably thought that her current seduction attempt was more likely to succeed than any previous seduction attempt she tried and failed, simply because he had a reason to be hurt. Unfortunately for her, fucking was the last thing on his mind.

“I should kill you for your disrespect.” He wanted to say that calmly like Mr World would, but he failed. “But you know what? Just stop playing difficult and do your fucking job. You don’t have to fuck him, if you don’t want to touch him, that’s understandable. You don’t even have to do it yourself, if you find an Old God to do that for you. Just get us rid of him and get back on Tinder or whatever you do.”

She didn’t seem to be impressed with his words. He could read her next words on her expression before she actually said them.

“Are you finished?”

“Yeah, just do your fucking job.”

“So making it someone else’s job counts too now?”

“If it’s done then yes, it does.”

They never expected her to do it herself anyway. Mr World had the war planned to the tiniest little detail and counted with her wanting to keep her hands clean. The boy just skipped a few steps in his plan. She would have killed Wednesday just at the right time to start the war, if he didn’t tell her that getting someone else to do that was an option. It would take much more pressure for her to figure it out herself. Of course her action would still start a war. At the very moment it just felt like a nice  _ fuck you  _ to the man, not to follow his exact orders.

Technical Boy didn't share Mr World’s enthusiasm for war. He might be the worst thing to happen to it, but he sure as hell didn’t need one to gain power. He could feed on soldier’s fear of missiles as much as he could on their children’s addiction to Metal Gear Solid. Old Gods would die anyway, it was just a matter of time. Even if there was no war, they would win.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that he might have overdone it a little.

…

He was easy to follow, he knew that. Not because he could be tracked. No. He himself was the world’s best tracking tool, without him Mr World was short on resources. If he went anywhere that wasn’t directly connected to him, the man would not be able to find him. But he chose to come back to Silicon Valley, the place that he knew was not safe.

He didn’t want to run from Mr World, without him he would be completely alone, even Media would lose her interest in him. If he was to be locked away by the man, he wanted to see that one person that wasn’t completely gone before that, he probably won’t be there when he is back, humans are that fragile.

He stood awkwardly by the hypnotised man. He thought that New Media’s power couldn’t be stronger than his own. It was pure logic wasn’t it? He provides her with his devices and that gives her her strength, not the other way around. Alas, even when he shut down the computer’s power, it didn’t free Xie. He kept staring at the monitor, as if his god wasn’t standing next to him.

He tried all the trigger words he knew, he called him a friend, but none of that helped.

“You may try  _ Hello World  _ next.”

The voice gave him shivers.

“Fuck you.” That wasn’t the first thing he planned to say to the man, it just came to him like reflex. He stepped back from Xie, facing Mr World.

"How is it that, that you have the audacity to promise you will make yourself useful and fail a simple task right after?" Mr World asked.

The boy couldn’t keep his gaze, he looked at the ground instead, giving the little effort to please the man. He knew he got kicks from power imbalance.

“I did what you-” He considered his next words, the phrasing was wrong. He didn’t do what Mr World wanted him to. “The job is done.”

“If anyone else disobeyed as much as you do, they would be dead by now.” Mr World walked towards him, until he stood unnecessarily too close. He probably had a whole speech prepared, but the boy didn’t feel like letting him continue it.

He took his eyes from the floor and looked up at the man. “Is that why you killed Media?”

Mr World’s reaction was better than he would dare to expect. For once the man seemed to be taken aback.

“Is that what you think? Why you act like a spoiled brat?” He laid his hand on the boy’s cheek, as if he was confronting a hurt child. 

The boy wanted to scream at him, to tell him not to touch him, but he couldn’t bring himself to. He rather let his words show his anger, just like the big boys do.

“Stop fucking with me, I know you did!” He said, looking in the man’s eyes. They looked green, but they weren’t green before.

For a moment Mr World gave him no answer. Something in the boy wanted him to make an excuse, to prove that he didn’t do what Media claimed he did. But it wouldn’t be Mister Imperialism if he wasn’t inherently evil, would it?

“I must admit I underestimated you. You are cleverer than I thought.” He petted his head like he was a dog that performed an especially good trick.

The boy felt his eyes tearing.

“Why?!" He pushed the man away from him. It was a new experience for him, raising his voice at the man. If he ever did that before, he didn't remember it and he knew, that Mr World would make sure for him to remember. His mind was calculating potential outcomes, all of them ended in tragedy.

“She would have left me to die, when the Old Gods attacked. She didn't bother to do the bare minimum she could have. By that she proved to be too tameless, too unsuiting for our purpose, she needed an upgrade to get under control.” Mr World spoke calmly, which pissed him off. “You said that yourself, she was outdated. Expired. But not you, you were ready to fight back, weren’t you?”

How typical was it for the man to use his words against him in the most painful way.

“I hate you.” The boy said. Tears fell down his face, it was clear now that he cried, so now he looked like a fucking pussy too.

He thought that in a way, the man was right. She left as soon as they lost control. But he didn't. He couldn’t have just let the man die then.

“I know.” Mr World answered. “We have to do something about that, don’t we?”

The Boy stepped back, it wasn’t many steps before he hit the CEO’s desk.

"There were other ways." He said. He knew he have already lost, Mr World explained himself. His actions were justified. The boy's were not. "You didn't have to kill her. That's too radical."

"You are a technology and we are in a war." The man walked to him, making sure he proves his point by a violation of his personal space. "You should know better than calling things  _ too radical." _

The boy had many answers, but none of them would improve his situation. What the man said was a total bullshit. Technology and war had the same relationship as a soft hole and man's libido.

For the radical part, he always thought one nuke would have been enough.

The man's palm was on his cheek again. He wiped off his tears, as if he cared about his feeling. "For someone made of calculations, you can be so incredibly stupid." He said, with his hand slowly sliding down to the boy's neck. "It's a shame, the new ones are always a poor fuck."

The choice of words really didn’t make the boy comfortable.

He closed his eyes, waiting for the man’s hand on his neck to start choking the life out of him. Instead his body was slammed to the table.

He cursed.

…

Somewhere that wasn’t quite as far away, as one would expect a woman was telling a bedtime story to a child. It’s possible to say it was her child, but it wasn’t hers any more than it was a child of the other two women in the room or a child of the humankind.

_ “Once upon a time there was a girl, who lived alone with her widowed mother in their cottage, she was no longer a child, but she was still quite young. She was hardworking, good and kind, always helping her mother and always sharing the little she had, when a traveller appeared on her doorstep. _

_ She would have lived a good life, poor life, but still a good one and after that would be welcomed by the gates of Heaven. But one day her mother started noticing there was something wrong with her daughter. She was paler and slimmer each day and each day she went to bed sooner and sooner. _

_ The mother asked her daughter “What is it that makes you pale and tired?” _

_ And the daughter, as good as she was, told her mother the truth. _

_ “Oh, mother, each night at midnight I am visited by a man with emerald eyes and each night he sweetly talks to me until the dawn. Then he kisses my hand and leaves.” _

_ “Show me your hand.” The mother demanded and the daughter did. Down on her wrist were two red dots. Terrified, the mother pulled away. _

_ “Poor girl!” She cried. “The man comes to drink your blood!” _

_ Then she gave her daughter a ball of wool and a needle and ordered her that at night, when the man comes, she is to sting the needle on the man’s coat.  The next day they will follow the trail of the wool and find the man. _

_ Good as she was, the girl obeyed her mother. The next day she woke up and found the wool under her window. _

_ She and her mother followed the trail, from the window it led straight to the shed behind their house. _

_ Armed with a hoe, her mother carefully opened the shed door and inside in the dark she saw a serpent nest, full of snakelets and in the middle of it laid a huge serpent with emerald eyes.” _

“Don’t tell him such a scary stories!” The youngest of the women said. “He won’t sleep, if he’s scared!”

“He will, trust me.” The woman telling the story defended herself. “Children love scary stories!”

“She is right.” The third woman joined their argument. “Boys need scary stories to get bolder.”

“That’s what you told me and how I turned out.” Her daughter frowned.

“I like it. What happened next?” The child said, there was clearly more chance he would fall asleep while they argue, than when the story is told.

“Oh, that was all.” The woman finished her story. “I don’t remember the rest of it. Maybe it ends here or maybe it ate them both and now it’s coming to eat you, if you don’t fall asleep fast enough.”

“You should really upgrade your child raising methods, Maria.” The young woman rolled her eyes. “You’ve forgotten yourself in the last century.”

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Good vibes will be send towards anyone who knows the fairytale and how it ends, because I forgot.


End file.
